


Intertwined

by embroiderama



Series: Golden Braid [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Sculpture, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has beautiful, talented hands, a fact which El thoroughly appreciates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same 'verse as [The Golden Braid](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/486696.html) and [Tangling](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/494213.html), but you don't really need to read them first.

El stood in the doorway of Neal's studio, watching him as he worked on his current project, a sculpture that was slowly taking on human shape. He was intent on his work, and she didn't want to disturb him but he'd left the door open so she knew she was welcome. When they moved into the new house they'd made it a priority to carve out private space for each of them--Peter's office where he communed with his baseball memorabilia, El's office with the smooth new hardwood floor for when she wanted to do yoga, and Neal's studio at the back of the house where the very best morning light streamed in through the windows. They'd sat down to discuss boundaries, who was welcome where and when, and as uncomfortable as Neal had been with delineating his needs and wants the result was a level of household harmony that had Neal relaxing into their life together, much as he relaxed into their arms at night.

Peter didn't like keeping the door to his office closed when he was in there, so his rule was that if he had on headphones he wanted to be left alone and otherwise he was happy to be distracted. Neal adopted the same rule as El--if his door was closed he didn't want to be disturbed, but an open door was an invitation. El tried to never take that invitation for granted.

It was Saturday morning, and El had woken up to find Peter deep asleep next to her and Neal gone from the bed. She had barely woken up when Peter crawled into bed in the middle of the night, fresh off a late stake-out, so she let him sleep while she rolled out of bed and pulled on his white oxford shirt from the night before. She saw Neal's studio door open but first she headed downstairs to check on Satchmo and make some coffee. Satchmo was sprawled out in the trapezoid of sunlight that came in through the kitchen window, and he looked up at her approach and thumped his tail on the floor but didn't get up to nose at the door.

"Neal took care of you, huh?" Satch panted happily and thumped his tail again as El stepped over him to get to the counter. She put her favorite vanilla hazelnut pod in to make a cup of coffee and opened the fridge to peruse brunch options while it brewed. A few minutes later, with a mug of hot coffee in her hand and brunch plans forming in her head, El went back upstairs and leaned against the open doorway of Neal's studio.

Neal was beautiful when he focused on his art. He was always handsome, frequently stunning, but he was at his most beautiful like this--barefoot, bare-chested, track pants slung low on his hips, his unstyled hair flopping around as he moved, his eyes intent on every detail, his body intermittently swaying to whatever music was playing through his earbuds. And his hands, El couldn't take her eyes off of his hands. They were a study in contradictions, strong but soft, elegant but square. She knew he put time into taking care of them, but he wasn't a man for ostentatious manicures. His nails were always clipped short, buffed to a gentle shine, but sometimes after he'd been working she could find bits of paint or clay ground into the whorls of his fingertips or under the edges of his cuticles.

For a man who was so clean, it was good to see him just a little bit dirty, especially when her thoughts were certainly anything but clean. He hadn't noticed her yet, still lost in the world of his sculpture, and she didn't want to disturb him but she did want him to notice her when he was ready come up for air. Quietly, she moved into the room and made herself comfortable on the wide, overstuffed armchair in the corner. It was an old thing, battered by time and chewed up by Satchmo in his puppy days, but Neal liked that he didn't have to worry about splattering it with paint and the wear and tear hadn't taken away any of its comfort. It was huge, almost big enough to be a loveseat, perfect for lounging.

El sat sideways in the chair, her bare legs slung over one armrest, and sipped at the rest of her coffee while Neal worked. Those beautiful, talented fingers teased shape and details out of flat clay, and El teased herself, one thumb slowly moving over the cotton that covered her nipples. She was just toying with herself, waking up her body until the heat of arousal filled her belly and she had to shift her hips in place, had to have that little bit of movement even if it wasn't nearly enough. As she was watching, Neal glanced up from his work and smiled at her before putting his focus back on his work. He paused then, sculpting tool still in his hand, and looked back up. She felt his gaze trace the length of her bare legs, the placement of her hand over the thin material of Peter's shirt, then he put his tool down and pulled the earbuds out of his ears.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little bit rough. "Good morning."

"Good morning." El smiled, then let her hands slide down from her breasts to her belly, settling on her thighs where the hem of Peter's shirt lay against her skin. "Don't stop working on my account."

Neal swallowed visibly and cleaned off his hands with the damp cloth he kept on his worktable. He pulled off his iPod armband and walked around his work in progress, his thin pants doing little to hide his arousal. "Do you really expect me to concentrate when I have you to look at? I should paint _you_."

"Again?" El raised one eyebrow and shifted her hips against the chair.

"Again." Neal nodded, tracing her figure with his eyes again as she leisurely unbuttoned her shirt down to the middle of her chest. "Just like this."

"The only problem is that when you paint me I can't see your hands."

"My hands?" Neal sank down to perch next to her legs on the arm of the chair and held his hands out in front of himself, fingers slightly splayed.

El took one of his hands and held it flat between hers, blowing a warm breath on his fingertips where they were too long for her to cover with her own "I love your hands."

"Oh yeah?" He cupped his free hand over her ankle and stroked his hand slowly up to her mid-thigh and back.

"Come here." She tugged on his hand and slipped one leg around him to make room for him to sit on the wide chair with her. The angle he was sitting at looked awkward, but he settled in and touched her leg again, from her ankle all the way to the top of her thigh, pushing aside the hem of Peter's shirt. El shivered as a thrill of arousal went through her at Neal's touch and he leaned in to kiss her. His unshaven scruff scratched at her cheek, and she gently nudged him back.

"I want your hands, right now," she said, guiding the hand she held until he was touching her breast, the shirt pushed aside. "Just your hands."

He stroked one thumb back and forth across the soft skin of her inner thigh and drew slow circles around her hardening nipple with the other, but she could still feel him holding back. "Should we wake up Peter? Or wait for him?"

El shook her head, full of fondness and frustration. "Peter's fine. Peter needs his sleep, and I need _you_. Unless you don't want to?"

Neal let out a shuddering breath. "Oh no, I want to. I just worry--"

"I know," El said gently. "I know, but one day you're going to understand that we can love you without jealousy and control, and that's going to be the most amazing thing. But for now--"

"For now, this is amazing enough." He spread his fingers out to cover her thigh then slipped his hand down between her legs. He teased a light finger over her labia, barely touching, no pressure, but it sent a shiver of sensation through her whole body.

El closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair, letting herself focus on nothing but the sensation of Neal's fingers moving on her, in her. He took his time, stroking his fingers everywhere _but_ her clit until she was shivering with need, aching for those talented fingers to find just the right spot. She was just about to move Neal's hand herself, to beg if she had to, when Neal read her as clearly as he always did. Two slender fingers slipped inside her, and his thumb found her clit. Finally, finally.

He moved his fingers and his thumb in counterpoint, thumb circling over and around her clit, fingers thrusting into her pussy, the knobs of his knuckles adding a hitch to the rhythm that was pushing her to the edge. She bit her lip and bucked her hips up against Neal's hand, needing more pressure, more friction, more, more. Then it was suddenly enough and she came, her pussy tight and quivering around Neal's fingers. His thumb kept moving, just lightly, just barely touching her clit as he drew slow ovals over her slick, sensitive skin. He kept her there, trembling and lost in the waves of sensation, until she sighed and slumped down into the upholstery.

El kept her eyes closed, savoring the lingering echoes of orgasm, and focused on breathing. Neal shifted, and she felt his lips on her chest, which she knew would be flushed bright pink, then on the base of her throat where her pulse beat. His hair brushed against her lips, and she whispered, "Thank you."

Neal rested his cheek on her chest, and she opened her eyes to see him awkwardly curled up on the chair. "Oh, Neal." El couldn't help laughing a little. "We should move this to the bed before we get so tangled up in this chair we can't get up."

Neal sighed and nestled in closer, seeming like he was far more comfortable than he looked. "But Peter's sleeping."

"Peter's awake." The voice was low, half-awake and amused and very much pleased. "And kind of a Peeping Tom this morning."

Neal knelt up on the chair, startled, and El tilted her head back to see Peter standing in the doorway. "Hi, hon! You're awake already?"

Peter shrugged and walked into the room to stand next to the chair. "You know I'm no good at sleeping in no matter how late I get in." He bent down and pulled Neal into a kiss, his hand in Neal's hair. "Good morning," he said quietly as he pulled away from Neal, then turned to El with a smirk. "I know _you_ 've had a good morning." He kissed her and slipped his hand under the open flap of her shirt--his shirt--his hand brushing over the bottom curve of her breast.

El looked over at Neal. "Do you have any more objections about moving this back to the bedroom? I mean, if you'd rather go back to your sculpture--"

"God, no." Neal shook his head and let Peter help him climb off the chair without falling before tugging Peter close for another kiss.

Her men were so beautiful--their bodies and their faces, their hearts and their minds. And, she had to admit, their hands and their cocks. She stood and walked into the hallway, knowing they would follow her. They always would.


End file.
